


Tender Loving Care

by siriusblue



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, John is a Very Good Doctor, Kissing, M/M, Old Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 10:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12408828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblue/pseuds/siriusblue
Summary: On the night of their third date, Lestrade gets hurt in the line of duty. Mycroft steps in to look after him.





	Tender Loving Care

~~~~ TENDER LOVING CARE

 

Summary: When Greg Lestrade is hurt in the line of duty, Mycroft steps up to look after him.

 

For Egmon73

 

Mycroft Holmes checked his pocket watch again but it only told him what he already knew. Greg was over an hour late. Mycroft knew Greg had responsibilities and was a dedicated officer, but he thought he might have had even a text.

 

Mycroft checked his phone which had stayed obstinately mute. No messages, no voice mail  Mycroft felt his heart sink a little. He had been looking forward to tonight, perhaps a little too much, but on their last date the atmosphere had been warm and convivial and as they said goodnight they had kissed. 

 

Mycroft knew he was more than a little out of practice at intimacy but it had been an excellent kiss and he wanted more.

 

He checked his watch again. An hour and a half now.

 

Before he allowed himself to wallow in the self-pity of the newly dumped, he picked up his phone and made a call.

 

Greg's phone went straight to voicemail so Mycroft made another, the result of which made him leap from his chair, drop a sheaf of notes in the table and hurry out of the restaurant to his waiting car.

 

“St Thomas's hospital. As quickly as you can.”

 

“Are you all right, sir?” asked his concerned driver.

 

“Yes, but my friend is not”

 

His driver moved into the traffic smoothly and reached Westminster in good time. Mycroft was out of the car and hastening towards the A&E department almost before the car stopped.

 

The department was surprisingly quiet. Mycroft was pleased to see John Watson on duty, scribbling something in a patient's notes at the nurse's station.

 

John looked surprised to see him but before he could speak, Mycroft pre-empted him.

 

“Inspector Lestrade. He's here  isn't he? John, how badly hurt is he?”

 

Mycroft could hear the rising anxiety in his own voice and saw John put two and two together and make the correct deduction. John took Mycroft by the elbow and guided him to the waiting area where he made him sit.

 

“He is going to be okay, Mycroft. He's got a concussion and some pretty nasty abrasions to his hands and body “

 

“What happened?”

 

“Some junkie tosser kicked him down a flight of concrete stairs.”

 

Mycroft visibly winced.

 

“May I see him?”

 

“Yeah, of course. He's with Emma in the end cubicle. She's sorting him out.”

 

With a nod of thanks to John, Mycroft approached the end cubicle only to hear Greg Lestrade's voice raised in protest.

 

“Emma, for God's sake! Do I have to strip?”

 

A woman answered him in a no-nonsense tone.

 

“Yes, you do. Don't pretend you're shy, Greg Lestrade. You showed me your willy when we were five. You smell worse than a pair of zookeeper’s boots. Where did you end up, the rubbish chute?”

 

“Close enough,” growled Greg. “ There, happy now?”

 

“Shut up and put this on.”

 

Mycroft announced his presence with a polite cough. With a firm instruction to Lestrade not to move, the curtain was pulled back and he found himself face to face with the mysterious Emma.

 

Around five foot four with dark, neatly braided hair and dark eyes that were full of amused concern, she looked to be about the same age as him. She wore a navy blue tunic and trousers and the name on her hospital ID read “Emma De Vries - Nurse Practitioner “

 

“Who are you?” she asked curiously. Mycroft was well aware that he was trespassing in her domain.

 

“My name is Mycroft Holmes. Inspector Lestrade is my friend.”

 

She looked him up and down, taking in the expensive suit and coat and the handmade shoes.

 

“So you're the one. He was drivelling on about missing a date, though you're not what I expected at all “

 

“Oh,” was all Mycroft could say.

 

“Go in, there's something I need to check with Doctor Watson. I'll be back in a minute.”

 

“I'm sorry,” were Greg's first words when Mycroft entered the cubicle.

 

“Don't be absurd, Gregory,” said Mycroft, crossing to the examination couch and looking at him. He was pale, filthy and looked diminished somehow. Both hands were raw-looking and covered in dried blood.

 

“John told me what happened.”

 

“Little bastard blindsided me,” said Greg bitterly. “I went headfirst into a pile of rubbish that wasn't quite thick enough to stop me getting knocked out.”

 

“How do you feel now?”

 

“Stupid. Got a sod of a headache, my hands are killing me and I missed dinner with you.”

 

Mycroft smiled sympathetically and stroked Greg's cheek with a long finger.

 

“You're alive. That's all that matters.”

 

Greg closed his eyes at the softness of the caress.

 

Mycroft removed his hand as Emma returned with a dressing tray.

 

“Right, clot. Let's get you fixed up.” She looked at Mycroft. “You can stay if you want, it's fine.”

 

Mycroft nodded and moved out of the way watching, fascinated, as she went to work. In what seemed like no time Greg's hands were cleaned and bandaged.

 

“You don't need stitches but try and keep the dressings on for a few days, and keep your hands as dry as you can. Now roll onto your side.”

 

Greg looked alarmed. “What for?”

 

“Tetanus shot. Doctor Watson says you need it.”

 

“Emma…”

 

She glared at him.

 

“Greg Lestrade, if you've had a tetanus booster since you went to Hendon, I'll eat my hat. Roll. Onto. Your. Side.”

 

It was over very quickly but Greg's howl echoed round the department. 

 

“All done, “ she said, patting him on the bum.

 

Greg glowered at her as he covered himself up. “That really hurt!” he exclaimed.

 

Emma rolled her eyes, and Mycroft couldn't stop himself from asking her

 

“Are you like this with all your patients?”

 

“Only the ones old enough to know better. I'm like this with him, Mr Holmes, because I've known Greg all my life. We grew up together on the same street,  same school, everything.”

 

“Then we fell out,” added Greg. “When I got married.”

 

“I warned you she'd break your heart. All your friends, the ones that loved you, tried to tell you but you chose her over us anyway.”

 

Greg turned his face from them, unable to deny the truth of her words.

 

“We reconnected recently through Facebook. He told me he was seeing someone new. A man. Honestly, I've never seen him happier.”

 

Mycroft could feel himself blushing at her approving smile and the look of utter horror on Greg's face.

 

“Not to change the subject, but when can I go home?” asked Greg plaintively.

 

“You can't.  You've had a head injury, you need to be watched for 24 hours. I can't discharge you if you're going to be on your own.”

 

“If I took him home with me, would that be acceptable?” asked Mycroft.

 

“Only if you promise to stay with him.”

 

“I promise.”

 

Emma produced a thin card from her uniform pocket.

 

“This is a head injury card. If he displays any, and I mean, any of these symptoms, you must bring him straight back. Do you understand?”

 

“Perfectly, “ replied Mycroft, pocketing the card. “I'll look after him.”

 

Emma looked at Greg, muttered something about finding him some clothes and walked away. Mycroft and Greg looked at each other and laughed.

 

“A very formidable woman,” remarked Mycroft.

 

“She's brilliant, “ said Greg fondly. “ Her husband and I used to play football together, and they've got two kids, late teens now. I'm happy we're friends again. I had no idea how toxic my marriage was till I was out of it “

 

Mycroft was saved from commenting by Emma's return. She handed Greg a pair of pale blue scrubs while reminding him to bring them back. Mycroft turned his back as, with much swearing and wincing, Greg dressed himself. Mycroft took off his overcoat and draped it round Greg's shoulders. He picked up the reeking bag labelled Patients Property as Greg hugged Emma goodbye and promised to see her and her family very soon. Emma extended her hand to Mycroft and he shook it warmly.

 

“It was lovely to meet you,” she smiled. “ I'll worry about him a lot less now.”

 

“Likewise,” replied Mycroft.

 

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

Greg had wondered what Mycroft's place would be like, he'd imagined somewhere functional and soulless but, as Mycroft ushered him through the front door, Greg quickly saw how wrong he was. 

 

Every room was half-panelled in warm, dark wood, thick carpets adorned the floors and the furniture was both bright and comfortable. Greg sank into a deep armchair as soon as Mycroft opened the door to the sitting room. Rich oil paintings graced the walls, one entire side was composed of bookshelves. Greg became aware that he smelled worse than ripe camembert left in the sun.

 

“I could do with a bath, “ he said.

 

“Yes, you do smell rather piquant,” agreed Mycroft.” Sit still and I'll run it for you.”

 

Greg relaxed in the chair, his eyes growing heavy. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept and his head was aching magnificently. Mycroft returned and Greg stood up, following him upstairs .

 

The bathroom was every bit as palatial as the rest of the house. In the middle stood a huge claw-footed tub with steam and the aroma of cedarwood rising lazily from it.

 

“Get in,” said Mycroft. “I'll fetch you some fresh towels.”

 

Greg peeled off his borrowed scrubs and climbed into the bath. He moaned aloud as the heat seeped into his cramped and aching muscles, unknotting them slowly.

 

Mindful of Emma's warning about keeping his dressings dry, he merely relaxed, resting his hands clear of the water and his head on the rim of the tub, luxuriating in the scented , bubbly water.

 

“Ah, good, you managed.” Mycroft had returned with a stack of fluffy towels and what looked like a pair of pyjamas and a dressing gown. As he put them down on the corner of the vanity unit, Greg’s eyes widened.

 

Mycroft was wearing his suit trousers but had taken off his jacket, tie and waistcoat. The top button of his shirt was undone, revealing a few sprigs of dark red hair and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow showing off the freckles Greg always imagined he possessed..

 

Greg couldn’t have been more surprised if Mycroft had walked in naked and asked to join him. He also realised that, bespoke tailoring or not, those suits concealed an incredible, lean body, one Grge had every intention of exploring when he had full use of his hands again.

 

“I can’t get my hands wet,” sighed Greg.

 

“I surmised,” said Mycroft with a grin. “If you sit forward, I’ll wash you.”

 

Greg did as he was bid as Mycroft knelt beside the bath, dipping a flannel into the water and gently rubbing the grime off Greg's skin.

 

Greg sighed, it felt wonderful to be clean again. Mycroft's touch was as soft as the brush of a butterfly's wing, even on all Greg's sore spots.

 

“You're overdressed for a bath attendant,” laughed Greg as Mycroft leaned over him. Mycroft responded by  kissing him gently on the mouth.

 

“Tip your head back,” instructed Mycroft and Greg closed his eyes as warm water cascaded over his head, washing away the dried blood and sweat.

 

“That's better,” said Mycroft approvingly. “Time you got out, I think. The water is filthy.”

 

Mycroft pulled the plug then handed Greg a towel, averting his eyes as Greg stood up and wrapped it round his hips. Mycroft used another towel to pat Greg's exposed skin dry before towelling the moisture from Greg's thick silver hair.

 

“Thank you, “ said Greg, taking Mycroft's hand even though it hurt. He had never been more sincere about anything in his life.

 

“Think nothing of it. Can you put these on?” asked Mycroft, handing Greg the pyjamas.

 

He didn't look away this time, which was just as well as Greg was unable to fasten the buttons. Mycroft's nimble fingers made short work of them and wrapped Greg in a voluminous dressing gown.

 

“You need to rest, Gregory, “ said Mycroft. “Follow me.”

 

Mycroft's bedroom resembled the rest of the house; warm colours and dark wood and Greg was more than happy to climb into the vast bed and sink into its comfort.

 

“Sleep, Gregory. I'll fetch my laptop. There's work I can be getting on with.”

 

Greg wanted to protest but he felt fuzzy and warm and each eyelid felt like it weighed a ton.

 

He only woke once to find Mycroft lying beside him, still dressed, on top of the duvet. His arm was around Mycroft's waist and his head on his chest. Mycroft was awake, his blue eyes shining in the pale, pre-dawn light.

 

“Go back to sleep, love. “ Mycroft whispered, kissing Greg on the forehead and stroking his hair, soothing him back to sleep. Greg smiled and snuggled closer, deeply comfortable with this new level of intimacy.

 

When Greg woke later, he was alone. His headache had vanished and he felt ravenous.

 

The siren smell of coffee lured him into the kitchen where he found Mycroft, also in pyjamas, his hair in coppery disorder,  eating toast and listening to Radio 4. He had dark circles under his eyes, but when he saw Greg, his face lit up.

 

“Morning. So you want coffee?”

 

“ Yeah. Thank you for looking after me so well,” said Greg, accepting the proffered coffee and helping himself to toast from the rack.

 

Mycroft smiled. “I've arranged to work from home today so I can keep an eye on you.” he announced. “And I've spoken to my brother, he was deeply concerned when John told him you'd been hurt.”

 

“ Really? I'm touched. But I don't want to put you out.”

 

Mycroft looked sternly at him.

 

“Gregory, we've been dating. I've seen you naked and spent the night with you in my bed. If you think for one minute that I'm letting you out of my sight before we fill in the missing piece of  that jigsaw, you've got another think coming.”

 

Greg grinned.

 

“Once my hands are better, I won't be able to keep them off you.”

 

“Exactly what I was hoping you'd say” replied Mycroft calmly, biting into the last of his toast.

  
  
The End.


End file.
